


THE MAN OF WINTER

by NyxSolei



Series: REGAL:ALLURE [2]
Category: VIXX
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Hanahaki Disease, Historical Fantasy, M/M, Mentioned Cha Hakyeon | N/Lee Hongbin, Tarot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-20 19:46:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18531907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxSolei/pseuds/NyxSolei
Summary: About that time that emperor Jaehwan found the cause of the Hanahaki.





	THE MAN OF WINTER

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted from VA challenge REGAL:ALLURING for Ken Week.

_**Hakyeon** _

_XIV TEMPERANCE_   
  


The far lights are enough to light the room, as the moon is high in the sea of darkness covering the red palace. As the emperor walks, the soft sounds of cloth dragging below him accompanies the grace of his calculated pace. Jaehwan is wearing leather and expensive skins, those of summer snakes caught and killed in the garden, then handed as a gift for the king to wear. Small, ruby gems are tangled within the masterful craftsmanship and the rustle of those against the golden ornaments emits the most wonderful bell-like sound. 

He opens the door to his own room, unveiling a bed filled with orange chrysanthemums, lying above expensive pillows, filled with nothing but the best of feathers for the royal family. He heaves a sigh, then falls into the bed, jewelry rustling and tingling. The emperor closes his eyes, and when he opens them, there’s a man above him, watching him with intent.

“Do you love me?” Jaehwan whispers, voice coming off distantly.

The man above him leans down, and their lips meet.

It’s sweet, and the emperor doesn’t want it to end, but when he feels this bile-some taste of dirt, earth and those---those horrendous petals he is sick of, he can’t help but want to break it. However, he finds no will to do so, nor the power- his mind and body are disjoined. The flowers rise from within his throat and push against the other’s lips. He garbles some incoherent noises, but the flowers don’t stop, and the man is still pressing to him.

He starts wiggling his limbs and thrashing his body in every direction. He can’t-- he can’t breathe---

 

The emperor wakes up in cold sweat, raggedly gasping for air, watching the dark room as his heart pulses in his ears. He gets up, and starts choking yet again, just like in his dream, petals harshly percolate along the mucus, and only at that point, sadly, he feels a comforting hand on his back.

“My love…” The other’s melodious voice coaxes as Jaehwan finally allows himself to take a full breath. The king is shaken, watching the petals that fell from his mouth to his hands, and from there to the extravagant rugs.

“H--” Jaehwan mumbles, on the verge of leaking pitiful tears, “Hakyeon-” His frail frame falls into the other’s arms, and the warm limbs collect him into an even warmer chest and figure. Before he knows it, in the most uncharacteristic way, Jaehwan is weeping into the older’s night gown, terrified of his own thoughts.

“Shh,” Hakyeon whispers, threading his slim and long fingers through the emperor’s lengthy, silken hair, combing through the black silken strands to calm the other down, “You are with me, love.” He offers, and if it was not for the emperor’s knowledge that the man with him was a Gisaeng, and was in fact, trained to speak those words countless times to others, Jaehwan would have been enamored to the sound of them. 

It happens too often for his liking, and there is not a single thing he can do to fight this curse, as he knows… Hakyeon isn't the one his heart his beating for, but finds most comfort within. 

“Hakyeon-” He meekly whimpers- what kind of emperor allows himself to break this way?

“What should I do?” Jaehwan cries softly, but the older has no answer.

 

* * *

 

_**Sanghyuk** _

_XV THE DEVIL_

 

“Our mulberries here curve green-threaded branches;” The younger recites, scroll written in beautiful characters to his lap, “And at last you think of returning home, now when my heart is almost broken...” 

The wind rises softly and the trees rustle silently, voices of nature accompany the well-weaved words of poetry. Some leafs fall to the man’s clothes, landing next to the scroll. It’s a quiet afternoon, and other than Sanghyuk’s words, and the joined breathing of the two occupying the garden, there is no sound, no murmur, no disturbance.

“O breeze of the spring, since I dare not know you,” He continues, “Why part the silk curtains by my bed?” The young man’s eyes lift to meet with the emperor’s enamored ones, heart rupturing with pride. 

Sanghyuk, now with a small braid to his honey-brown hair, has nearly mastered most of the poems Jaehwan could lend him from the royal library. All those moon-cycles ago, at the brink of spring, Sanghyuk had very little knowledge of the written, but after diligently learning- with Hakyeon’s help, he reads poetry as if it is his own mind he is speaking.

“That was beautiful.” The emperor comments as Sanghyuk rolls the scroll back to place, “You have learned well.”

The younger grins and puts the scroll aside, leaning back on a tree that he once used to climb on, to see the outer boundaries of the palace’s wall. Three moon cycles can do much to a man.

“Hakyeon-hyung teaches well.” He replies, eyes somewhat glassy to those words, but Jaehwan does not notice. It’s rare to find Sanghyuk praising anyone, being the youngest of guests, and most scandalous one.

When he comes to think of it, Jaehwan notes that all of his guests are rather unique- with Hakyeon being a Gisaeng, Wonshik being a general, and Sanghyuk…

Sanghyuk is a commoner.

A farmer.

Used to be.

 

“Your sister would have been proud.” Jaehwan allows himself to say, knowing how delicately he must walk around the subject. Fitting bits of information, the emperor had learned that Sanghyuk was one out of seven siblings to a common status family. They were farmers, and the younger proudly stated that they have made rice wine so well, many people made trips to purchase from his family. At that very young age, he has already been working the earth and nature, where Jaehwan can only recall being pampered and adored for his existence at the same time.

“My noona didn’t allow me to learn how to read.” Sanghyuk confesses, “She said that if I know too much, then I’d get bought, just like she was.” 

Three moon cycles ago, the man would have bit his lip and thrash his head to hang low, but not anymore. The story of his sister being sold to an Okta is palpitating all the time, and his conversations with the emperor have turned from enthusiastic banter of adventures and freewill to be collected, to bringing up the memory of her.

Jaehwan knows he has grown, and he knows that Sanghyuk’s heart is held captive by someone. One does not sigh at all times, thinking of how infuriating his beloved’s actions are. This worry, this understanding, is something grand that Jaehwan could have never believed he granted.

“She was smart.” Jaehwan replies, and opens his mouth to talk again, but instead of words, a quick whiplash of the wind takes over the sounds, and an arrow flies by, landing perfectly next to the younger’s head.

Sanghyuk’s eyes expand in terror, unmoving from his position, watching the emperor in absolute fear. The king doesn’t move either, fixing his stare at the silver arrow.

The wind blows louder, and as if the nature itself is angry at the upheaval of the scenery, calmness and peace turning into distress and horror. The leafs rise from the ground, furiously dancing around them, flowers fall from the trees, deranging the view. It’s all so still, yet so, so, isn’t.

“H-Hyung,” Sanghyuk utters, pale as the whitest of clouds.

Momentarily, the emperor latches onto the arrow, and unpins the letter attached to it. He glances reassuringly at the younger a single beat before reading the scramble of characters on the poorly-made scroll.

 

_ We are watching. _

 

And then-

 

_ We are coming for you _ .

 

The king takes the distressed figure of his guest into his own, engulfing in his best try of comforting hug.

 

* * *

 

_**Taekwoon** _

_II THE HIGH PRIESTESS_

 

The purple haze of the sky covers the shrine in a low cloud of securing fog, and shining through is the brightest god - the sun. The obelisk at the entrance of the holy grounds stands proudly high, rays of twilight sunshine falling over the obsidian. It is believed to have been here for many eons, much earlier than any dynasty, heritage or human has ever walked the land.

A shudder surges through the king’s body as he caresses the dark stone, waiting for the oracle to see him. It’s busy around this time of the season, as the oracle must take care and plead the gods to give the kingdom a fortunate summer. An ominous aura sets by the temple, and Jaehwan’s heart beats faster to the thought it would be nigh-time soon. 

He never was the one to be frightened easily, but the last events, the increasing nightmares, the fact---

The fact he cannot find someone to save him from this curse.

He watches as a man in blue drapes walks down from the shrine, meeting the emperor at the bottom of the stone steps. The oracle bows only because he must and the law dictates for him to do so, as the emperor in front of him is a man that the oracle himself raised.

That is the cost of the curse, plucking one by one of the royal family, reducing bright figures into speechless, wordless and soundless petals.

“Let us go to the altar.” Leo offers, and enthusiastically, the king agrees and follows.

 

They sit, the scent of incense is heavy, folding around the low fog that enters the temple little by little. The emperor is sitting poised at one side of the stone table, waiting for the oracle to spread the cards. 

Each card is decorated delicately with leafs, drawn masterfully around the leather. The soft hands of the older lay out a few cards, and when they are turned upwards, Jaehwan sees the names.

 

First, Leo uncovers the Temperance card. Beauty, calm, nature- all that is collected within the card, as far as Jaehwan knows. Watching the leather slip in wonder, the emperor is yet to pay attention to the other's words. Faintly, he can hear what Leo is saying, but he doesn't listen.

“Oh?” The emperor finally snaps out of his overworking mind, “Repeat what you said.”

Leo sighs, “Would you listen to me, Jaehwan?” The oracle retorts, “The Temperance has a strong connection to The Devil, it seems. Next time, I will not repeat myself.”

“I apologize.” Jaehwan blurts carelessly, “Please continue.”

Leo rolls his eyes, and the oracle sets two more cards between them, on the table. The first, Jaehwan can see clearly- The Strength major arcana. The emperor is not very wise with the cards, for that is the oracle's destiny to withhold.

Then, the second card is uncovered, and Jaehwan's heart sinks.

 

_ The Death. _

 

His eyes never leave the card. The sound of his ragged breaths harmonize with the hum of the room, emitting from the cool twilight wind.

His heart beats loudly as he thinks of all the warning signs before him- the nightmares, the arrow, and the card-- it's too much.

It's too much for an emperor that is not very experienced, and let alone to a young man.

 

“Death does not mean cease of existence.” The older explains in a calm voice, “Rather than change. The wind is always blowing, water caress the earth, it is unavoidable, and such is the change, too.” Leo's voice drops lower, and there is something too perilous about it. A warning perhaps, but the emperor does not know of what. His lips dry to the sound of the words as he is watching, enchanted within the oracle's whispers.

“It is closer than you may deem to assume, so be prepared.”

 

Jaehwan swallows thickly, giving a quick nod and leaving.

 

* * *

 

_**Wonshik** _

_XI STRENGTH_

 

The humble strands of the once-soldier have grown into a shy bun, fitting for an ornament or two at most. The hairpiece, designed as a bird by the emperor's request is hanging at the tip of the collected hair, decorating the dark locks with ruby and gold. 

It isn't very hard to see that the man is the favourite of the three- being showered with gifts of such delicacy and mastery, that even this, subte ornament is special. After all, it is shaped after a falcon, the most stunningly powerful of birds.

While the emperor is draped comfortably on the rich collection of pillows, the younger is sitting, allowing the royalty to rest his head over his lap, warm hand entangled with his own.

Jaehwan is comfortable this way, and comfort is all his heart wishes for. His almond eyes wander from the younger's scar beneath his chin, to the vase next to them. 

It's a beautiful work of ceramic, done by Jaehwan's request, painted in pure white and blue, resembling the sky at the brightest day. The older's heart bursts with joy at the mere thought of the day he gifted it to the man he is currently lying on. It was on the most clear of spring days, and he remembers spending the time leisurely with reading poetry to Wonshik. His servant whispered then to him that his requested vase has arrived, and it is placed in Wonshik's room. Much like that time, the simple gift that could only be described as luxury, is stunning. There are birds drawn over it, spreading their wings to freedom, above a field of blue chrysanthemums.

Wonshik was delighted to have it, and Jaehwan's heart soared far at the subtle smile he received from a man that is all but smiling. Leo and Wonshik are alike in that manner, Jaehwan notes.

“It looks like a local forgery.” Wonshik's bass voice brings the enamored king back to now. The love-struck expression sours into something languished, watching the tip of the arrow that has been shot at him and Sanghyuk a few days ago, bring held just above him by Wonshik. 

If there is anyone around the palace to know of war-toys of a such, it is the past-general that currently houses the emperor's head.

“It could not have been very far made, and relatively new, as well.” Wonshik explains, “I cannot believe it is more than just a few weeks old, my king, and yet, the shape is so exquisite, we would use those heads in battle for the snipers.”

“Snipers?” Jaehwan jolts, sitting up straight and looking at the relaxed man, “Does it belong...to snipers?” He asks, and his voice wavers a lot more than an emperor should permit himself.

Wonshik nods, “It is a precise arrow, whomever may have shot it, my emperor, was trying to take your life.”

Jaehwan feels how the world turns, and the sickening burn within his stomach rises and palpitates, sending signals to his body. As if knocked off his feet, the emperor loses his colour, becoming a pale white like the vase he adored so much.

“And the letter,” Wonshik continues, taking the piece of leather to his hands, “It is a local dialect, dare I say a capital dialect.” He hums, putting away both of the items and turning to the older, “I dare to assume it is someone close by, my king.”

The emperor's lips tremble to the sound of that, and he throws himself to Wonshik's frame, seeking comfort.

 

Why? Why would someone want Jaehwan dead?

 

He thinks of the cards previously opened before him, how Strength and Death walk hand in hand in his destiny, and perhaps, it is closer than it seems.

A woebegone aura sets within Jaehwan's heart, and it is unrelenting, giving no rest at all times.

 

* * *

 

_**Hakyeon/** Hongbin_

_XII THE HANGED MAN_

 

The golden hairpiece never felt as heavy as it is now for the emperor. The metallic delicate ornament is idle over his tight bun, but he can feel the rim of it digging down his head, the burden of sitting right there, at that position exactly, is too heavy for him.

His eyes move to his pale hand- paler than usual, but surrounded by the scent of chrysanthemums. Jaehwan can't recall exactly when, but he started hating the cursed smell, as well as the flowers themselves. The emperor clenches and unclenches the fist, and turns to gaze at the messenger before him. 

The young boy that carries the regal symbol looks frightened to the bone, still sprawled on his knees before the king, showing his respect. The emperor sighs, and gestures the boy to stand up. He hated when people bowed to him like that.

“Thank you for informing me, please rest as you have done well.” Jaehwan dismisses, but when the messenger leaves, the grave air he carried with him, stays.

The terrified eyes that bore holes into the emperor's image as he spoke quietly the news;

 

_ There is a resistance within the kingdom. _

 

Jaehwan sighs, and brings a hand to massage the pain behind his eyes. It doesn't help.

 

_ They hired assassins to take your life. _

 

He groans audibly, hitting his fists on the throne, only a second before he feels that earthly taste and disgusting texture of petals rolling down his tongue. Jaehwan coughs uncontrollably, shrinking in his seat. His stomach clenches and his throat emits countless leafs, spilling them all onto the expensive fabric to his body. There is some blood mixed between, but the emperor can't bring himself to care about that-- he simply calls a servant to bring him something to clear it all off.

 

“I can see that you are upset.” A sweet voice says from afar, and Jaehwan lifts his gaze to undoubtedly the most beautiful man in his gardens. Some of his unknowingly tense features relax to the sight of Hakyeon, and the slightest of smiles begins to grow across his lips.

“Hakyeon.” The emperor acknowledges, “This is not your assigned day and yet you visit me?” He hums in amusement.

“Be careful, my king,” Hakyeon walls gracefully closer, wearing a bashful yet playful expression, it's endearing.

“Be careful?” The king's mind returns to the information he has just received. Could it be that Hakyeon has heard anything of it? How far did those rumors reach for even his treasured guests to tell him those things? 

The sheen sheet of sweat over Jaehwan's skin gradually becomes hotter and more noticeable. 

“Yes, my love, those words of yours almost sound bitter.” Hakyeon muses, and Jaehwan unclenches his fist that somewhere along his racing thoughts has closed. Those rumors-- they are already under his skin. His eyes visibly relax as Hakyeon is only the throne's steps away from him. 

“May I request of the emperor to walk his humble servant to his quarters?” The older jovially, vixenly asks, and the emperor knows he cannot turn away such request. Even less now, when all he wishes for is for something to clear his worried heart.

The king puts away his pair of silver glasses,  landing them on a soft pillow adjacent to his throne, and steps down to meet his guest.

Instantly, Hakyeon wraps both of his arms around one of the younger's.

“I know of only one another man that wore that sorrowful expression if yours.” The older walks by, looking at the front of the path, rather than at the king, “His name was Hongbin.” He says, yet voice far away, somewhere within his memories. 

They walk by a pink tree, shedding it for the wind to lead it to the ground. The rim of the petals is golden, as the end of spring draws near.

Jaehwan notes how distant the man's eyes look, as his lashes caress the high, sun-kissed cheeks of his.

“He was a younger Gisaeng, but he was talented in most arts, and had very peculiar looks.” Hakyeon tells, and Jahewan doesn't dare to interrupt, as he knows- this man, this Hongbin, was important to his guest.

“But a Gisaeng is a Gisaeng, and sadly, he was bought, no matter how he begged our master to stay.” He sighs, and Jaehwan's heart clenches at the gesture. For a few moments, there is no other disturbance but the sound of gravel crushing under their soles, the wind howling and sending the fallen leafs away, picking up the sand from below. The universe is anything but silent, unlike Hakyeon. However, that same silence, speaks volumes that cannot be conceived to simple, human words.

Hakyeon stops, and the rising wind blows his drapes against his frail figure.

“He was... beautiful.” He speaks in such sadness that can only come from departing a beloved one, “He was free-spirited, strong-willed, and above all, hard to tame.”

A beat.

“He was your first love.” The emperor dares to insert. The Gisaeng turns to face him with a foxy expression.

“How perceptive of you.” He confirms, and continues walking, taking a path to his sleeping quarters through a small bridge, above a pond.

“Yes. He was my first love.” Hakyeon walks a little further ahead while speaking, “But when the time for farewells arrived, he had this...expression, matching the stormy sea, as if it is trapped within his very own eyes.”

Jaehwan smiles warmly. His heart beats a little faster in compassion. Hakyeon… could have been a poet with a tongue like that. 

“He was my first love.” Hakyeon a little more cheerfully notes, stopping after the bridge, heaving his gaze to the entrance to his quarters, “But Hongbin is not my last.”

Jaehwan lifts his look, watching the same horizon as his guest, and spotting a sheepish younger guest, waiting diligently at the entrance.

The emperor does not follow Hakyeon's footstep when the older walks to his designated quarters, taking by the hand the slightly higher figure of Sanghyuk.

 

* * *

 

_**Wonshik** _

_XII DEATH_

 

 

Some of the adjacent birds fly out of their hideouts when the emperor leans on a tree, hoping to find some balance as he coughs what seems to be another infuriating lump. The constrictive feeling within his chest worsens as he finds that the bothersome object doesn't come out this once.

Jaehwan drops against the tree, coughing harshly, blood and saliva staining his clothes, only for a mere second, before a strong pair of arms collect him to a firm chest.

He can't stop choking even when his hands find the fabric on that man's chest, but only by that moment, does he realize his saviour.

The sweet yet tingling musk that is undoubtedly belonging to the one either training endlessly or reading poetry- what he lacked at the battlefield. It's distinctive like the bright, clear sky of the spring day, and Jaehwan realises the answer was before him all along.

Tears form at the corner of his eyes, drawn at the end of his abilities to breathe evenly. He grasps the fabric harder when he finally feels a large lump rolling at the back of his mouth to the front, and when he emits the complete chrysanthemum, Jaehwan notices they're no longer at the gardens, rather then at the doorstep of his own room.

“Wonshik…” The emperor gasps mesmerizingly, opening his teary eyes to watch the orange chrysanthemum on his chest.

For a moment, it feel etheral- the younger watching his with such fierce gaze, as if watching the depths of his heart's corners.

His lips form a smile, and Wonshik could have not looked more beautiful than this-- natural, happy, and very close to Jaehwan.

The emperor is laid on his pillow-stuffed bed, and the once-soldier follows, climbing above him, and watching with that same powerful gaze.

“Do you..” Jaehwan wants to mutter meekly, as the bloody chrysanthemum on his chest is forgotten, “Do you love me?” His voice stutters.

Wonshik's look softens, and he caresses a little roughly Jaehwan's cheek, evidently, and silently so, landing his lips on the other's trembling and saliva-induced ones.

Power erupts from the emperor's heart, sending shockwaves to every single tip of his limbs, radiating heat in intense temperatures that can only match a sunny summer day. It's delightful- the feeling of another, and Jaehwan revels in every moment. It washed him in a new surge of energy that he was not familiar with before.

And then, it stops.

Wonshik draws away his lips, and with that same intense gaze, his eyes turn darker than a moonless night.

“No.” He whispers, but it is incredibly loud for the man on the bed.

“W..What?” Jaehwan mumbles in disbelief, any remnants of the prior rush gone to dust.

Wonshik lifts himself off the bed, combing through his hair and cleaning off his clothes. It turns cold in the paper room, and the older does not know where does this originates from.

“No, Jaehwan. I don't love you.” Wonshik confesses, threading his hands behind his back, looking at the other as he is immobile on the bed, “You are nothing but a weak emperor, Jaehwan, too young in mine and my master's opinion.” Wonshik turns away, passing by the clutter in the room.

Jaehwan cannot move a single spot in his body. It would not listen.

“We needed a way for me to get close to you, Jaehwan, and my master knows of your curse.” His voice turned amused, “However, your royal guard found our assassin guild, and I got arrested.”

Jaehwan's heartbeat rises furiously.

“I am not a soldier, I lied to you, Jaehwan.” He watches the mortified expression on the emperor's face as he turns pale as the expensive china gifts he had received, “I am an assassin of the resistance.”

Then, a moment later, Jaehwan feels something cold.

_ Inside him. _

He gurgles up the last bits of liquid from his body, and his shaking frame gazes slightly, as much as his blurring sight allows him, to the knife in his right side. He recognizes the knife, he thinks in agony, as the constrictive feeling returns, and flowers rush and roll out of his mouth.

It's a knife he had gifted Wonshik.

“Goodbye, premature emperor. Your replacement, my master, the head of the guild awaits to take over.” Wonshik gives him one last kiss on his forehead, before taking the knife out, walking away from the scene, leaving Jaehwan alone as bloody, orange chrysanthemums cover the once-emperor's body.

 

There is no breath left in him when he tries to call for help.

 

The chrysanthemums aren't allowing it.

 

* * *

 

_**Leo** _

_XI JUSTICE_

 

Purple hue of dark sky sets in, washing the kingdom in pale blues and reds. The birds are preparing for the next day, heading back to their homes, and leaving the orange memorial garden to fall to silence.

The emperor walks gently, along with the wind, his hand caressing the flowers in the garden as he passed by. Each step is quiet, like the man himself, like his assistant too.

It was all well planned, he thinks, and evidently, when he walks up to the orange chrysanthemums bush, emperor Leo knows that the previous emperor is now finally resting well.

Jaehwan was never fit for ruling, and like the chrysanthemums he has emitted, he was nothing but a nice decor in Leo's plan.

“I like those.” Leo tells Wonshik absent-mindedly, “They are pretty.”

“Yes.” Wonshik agrees, “But they die too easily.”

**Author's Note:**

> The poem that Hyuk recites is THE SPRING by LI BAI.


End file.
